


I've got a name

by Schattenecho



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Brainwashing, Canon Compliant, Canon Jewish Character, Captivity, Collars, Cultural References, Dubious Science, Heavy Angst, Holocaust Survivor Erik Lehnsherr, Hurt Erik Lehnsherr, Hurt/Comfort, I Tried, I'm Sorry, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Games, Mind the warnings, Past Rape/Non-con, Protective Charles Xavier, Pseudo Science, Recovery, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Sharing a Bed, Slavery - Freeform, Slow Burn, Torture, Warning for Sebastian Shaw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:22:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29958159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schattenecho/pseuds/Schattenecho
Summary: “It was a pleasure doing business with you, Major.”“Forgive me when I say the feeling is far from mutual.”, he grimly took the hand: “Goodbye, Professor Xavier.”He turned to walk out of the room, but before leaving he stopped by him, grabbed him by the collar and yanked him up to whisper in his ear:“You are no longer my problem. The Professor is now your Master. I heard some things about him. I wouldn’t anger him. See you.”Stryker threw him back on the floor and left without another word. Left him alone. Alone with a foreign human. The room was warm. He started to tremble.
Relationships: Azazel/Raven | Mystique (X-Men), Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier, Hank McCoy/Raven | Mystique, Raven | Mystique & Charles Xavier
Comments: 32
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

The too bright light flickered on and signalised the beginning of the day-cycle. He had only waited for it to happen, so he could change from lying on the hard, cold concrete to kneeling on it. He probably would manage to get to his feet, it had been some time since they last used the electrodes on him, so his muscles probably wouldn’t spasm too badly. But the Major wanted to find him like that, on his knees, the hands stretched out, so he could easily grab him. And so, he would stay where he was, not moving until he was told to.

As far as he remembered there was a mattress and a blanket across the room, both shabby and stained but definitely warmer than the greyish tatters he wore. But he wouldn’t touch them. It would gain him nothing but pain. Mutant filth belonged in tatters on the floor.

He waited. His head was empty. No thoughts, no name, no feelings. Thinking was human. Submitting was mutant. Having a name was human. Wearing a number was mutant. Wearing not having. Mutants couldn’t possess anything. Nature wanted it that way. He knew that now. He had learnt his place.

The door was slammed open, the unmistakable noise of army boots hitting concrete entered the room. He tried to be as small as possible. If Stryker came personally to fetch him, it had to be important. Or a new form of punishment, the Major wanted to oversee by himself. In any case, he had to be alert.

“Boy, up.”

He wanted to jump to his feet, but apparently, he had spent more time than he thought on his knees. His legs reacted slower than they were supposed to.

“Come on!”, tired of waiting Stryker grabbed him by the plastic collar around his neck and just dragged him along. He stumbled with him, desperately trying to get on his feet so he wouldn’t inflict more problems than he already did. He had failed the order. The Major had had to bother _helping_ him. And other than the assistants or the Sergeant who sometimes would only make him _useful_ otherwise _,_ Stryker would be unforgiving. They would go to the laboratory.

“This is very important, so don’t fuck it up.”, Stryker snarled at him, while dragging him through corridors he couldn’t remember. He wasn’t supposed to remember anything, except the orders he had been given. But he was pretty sure that he really hadn’t seen these walls before. The light was also different. Warmer, somehow.

The Major opened a door again, this time very civic and careful, pushed him inside and followed while closing the door.

The room wasn’t a laboratory. It wasn’t even clinical. It was warm. A pretty lamp on the ceiling lighted a room with light wooden floor and a decorative shelf in it. Two blue sofas and three stuffed chairs stood around a modern coffee table, with one cup of tea on it.

On the one of the couches sat a young man, dressed in an elegant, expensive but still laissez-fair looking suit. His fingers were pale and finely structured, but the way they moved around the entire time hinted their strength. He made an attempt to go to his knees, but Stryker forced him to take two steps further next to the second sofa. There he finally could drop to the floor. No risk for his eyes to stick to something they weren’t supposed to.

“Major Stryker, your fame precedes you.”

His voice had a strange accent, he never had heard before.

“Professor Xavier. I’m surprised you managed to find our facility.”

Professor Xavier, who either was a very young professor or older than he looked, chuckled:

“You would be surprised what marvellous things you can find with help of the right people. Are you already informed about the purpose of my visit?”

“You aren’t a man for long chitchat, Professor.”

“I don’t want to waste our time. If you want a lovely chat, we can meet for tea someday.”

“No need. Normally people like you love hearing themselves talking.”

“Luckily, I’m not like normal people. Is that the man?”

“Subject 214 782. And yes, that is it.”

“May I?”, the Professor asked.

“Feel free to touch him. He won’t do anything, if he knows what good for him.”

Of course, he wouldn’t try anything. Xavier crouched down in front of him and raised his chin with a strangely gentle touch. He went with the motion easily, avoiding eye contact by keeping his glance downcast.

“What is that thing on his throat? Is that PVC?”

“Good eye. That is a suppression collar. To keep him docile and sweet. And also, he would be extremely dangerous without it. It keeps his mutation under control.”

“Interesting. How does it work?”

The Professor wanted to see how the collar worked. Stryker would show him. Would make _him_ showing it.

“Glad you asked. That is an impressive piece of technology. It not only blocks the nervous signals that trigger the mutation, but reflects them back. Directly into the part of the brain that triggers pain. I will show you.”

“Oh, I think there is no need for that. Your explanation was pretty graphic.”

“No, no I insist. This is also a good chance to see his training work.”, he can hear the Major grinning anticipately: “Boy, show him.”

He bit his lip, biting down a choked sob. He closed his eyes and reached out for the long not used part of his mind. He took a deep breath and lashed out with it. For one glorious, shining moment he felt the metal nails in the sofas and the chairs, the cables in the walls. Stryker’s gun and all the metal on his uniform.

Then the backlash hit.

Pain. Clear, burning pain in every cell of his body. For a second he blacked out. He found himself slumped on the floor. He just hoped that he didn’t scream. Stryker wanted him to shut up.

“That was a… an interesting demonstration. And he is metallokenetic, right?”, the Professor asked, while he returned to his knees, his body still aching with the echo of the pain pounding in his bones.

“He controls metal, if you mean that.”

“Exactly.”, Xavier straightened himself and returned to the sofa: “Now, I know what I get. To make things even, you should know what you get. Fifty thousand dollars, cash. Right here and now.”

“Fifty? Do you know how valuable and unique this asset is?”

“Of course, I know. But do you know what I know too? That you didn’t run any tests on him for the last two years. And still get around twenty million dollars every year. I wonder for what kind of work? And I wonder, how your bosses would react if they find out about this. Do you understand what I am talking about?”

Was this man _threating_ Stryker? To buy _him_? Who would want him? He was worthless. Unless… He was a professor. Maybe with a laboratory. Probably interested in mutants.

“And also, I’m here with an official letter of appointment. Your unit doesn’t seem to produce any valuable information anymore. I have the resources and the knowledge to get everything I and the US-government want from him. At least that is the opinion of some of my _friends._ The fifty thousand dollars are a… personal incentive for you. I don’t want us to part ways in bad fate. You seem like a decent man, who serves his country well. Let’s keep it that way, shall we? You get this nice little suitcase and I get _him._ We shake hands and I go. Or we do this the hard way. Either option I get what I want.”

Everything moved too fast. Way too fast. His world went upside down in a few seconds. He pressed himself closer to the floor, trying to hide away from all these not sense making words. If Stryker put him away, he would push him into a new world, with new rules and a new owner’s mercy. He didn’t want that. He wanted the security of the known. The Major punished him; the assistants did whatever they wanted. The Sergeant was so rough that he had almost killed him more than once. But after years he could predict what they wanted and try to behave as good as possible to make it less bad.

“A personal incentive.”, Stryker repeated, slowly: “Like a very kind donation to this facility. I think we can use that quite well.”

“I see, we understand ourselves.”, the Professor smiled and stood up: “An excellent choice, if I may add.”

“A choice. Because I had so many great options to choose from.”

Xavier decided to overhear the sarcastic comment and offered his hand:

“It was a pleasure doing business with you, Major.”

“Forgive me when I say the feeling is far from mutual.”, he grimly took the hand: “Goodbye, Professor Xavier.”

He turned to walk out of the room, but before leaving he stopped by him, grabbed him by the collar and yanked him up to whisper in his ear:

“You are no longer my problem. The Professor is now your Master. I heard some things about him. I wouldn’t anger him. See you.”

Stryker threw him back on the floor and left without another word. Left him alone. Alone with a foreign human. The room was warm. He started to tremble. 


	2. Chapter 2

CHARLES

Charles took a deep breath and resisted the urge to immediately wash his hands clean from the touch of this _man._ Major Stryker was one of the most obnoxious people he had ever met. The glimpses he got from his mind when they shook hands had been enough to vomit. He was so damn glad, that the little push against his mind in the end had been enough to make him go away.

He turned to the trembling man on the floor. Even considered his thin clothes (and non-existing shoes) that shivering couldn’t come from the temperature in the room. It was fear. Of course, it was. A look at his meagre, bruised and scared form was enough. He wanted to reassure him, tell him the truth about him and that he wouldn’t do any harm to him. But using his gift in this environment, even alone in a room, was too much a risk. Little emotional pushes were almost not traceable, real communication definitely was, if he didn’t conceal it perfectly. Also, it wouldn’t really help the poor man, if he heard a foreign voice in his head.

Charles sighed and turned back to the man that was now his _property_. The thought alone was enough to make him sick.

“Okay. Could you get up?”

The man jumped to his feet, so fast Charles jerked back in surprise.

“Just, walk with me.”

Still a bit ruffled by this encounter, he opened the second door to the room, the one that lead to the fastest way out. He would have a seven-hour drive to get to know his new _guest_. The first thing he would do when they were back at his home, was to get that collar off him. He heard about them, more as a rumour than anything else, but seeing what they actually did to people… Hank would find a way to get that thing off.

He sent his mind out to check the way in front of them. Very good, nobody there. Nobody who could stare. He didn’t want the man by his side to be frightened even more. That had been the first thing he noticed when he saw him being dragged into the room, was the fear radiating from him. He hadn’t wanted to look into his mind, but some contact was always inevitable. He never encountered a mind so ruined. Literally, where normal people had more or less complete structures, his head was filled with pieces of such structures. Ruins of his former self.

The last door opened and closed behind them. Finally, he could start to relax a bit.

“Just over there. Are you fine with the backseat?”

The second after another wave of fear and anxiety washed over him. He turned just in time to get a glimpse of the man staring at him, desperately trying to read his face. Pale grey-green-blue eyes full of confusion and fear were only visible for a split of a second. It hadn’t even been a proper question and still inflicted _that_ reaction. This would be much more work than he anticipated.

“Go to the backseat.”, Charles commanded awkwardly: “Please.”

He climbed on the driver’s seat and let his muscle memory do the rest. He really started thinking again, when they reached the exit of the car park and the guard threw him a suspicious glance. Normally he would have tried to get out of the situation like a human, but his patience for today had already been tested out. There were no other people around, who could get suspicious. Charles pressed his fingers against his temple, only for a second, only lightly, but it was enough for the guard to open the gate.

He sensed a quick moment of surprise from behind him and smiled to himself. A smile that turned wider when the concrete of the building changed to the asphalt of the street. The man in the backseat reacted to the world outside with childlike wonder. What was amusing first, made Charles think only moments later. He reacted that way, because it had probably been ten years or more since he last saw wide blue sky and dark green firs.

When the sunlight touched his skin, he even jerked back. Charles decided to postpone the introduction to sometime tomorrow, when they both would be in better shape.

“You seem pretty tired. The bench is probably a bit too short, but sleep a few hours. I’ll wake you if something exciting happens.”

Either his guest was really, really tired or so harshly trained to follow orders, anyway he nearly collapsed on the bench. Either way not a good sign.

For a while he just drove in silence, looking at the boring landscape outside. Trees and hills and fields, laying there in all their late summer boredom. It was hard to imagine that this peaceful sight belonged to the same country that experimented on people like him because their genes were a bit different from the rest.

He was lucky, that his gift was pretty easy to hide. Charles worked hard to keep it that way, only using it when he could be sure it wouldn’t be detected. Raven and he used to play around with their powers for hours in the cellar of the manor. He imagined faces and projected them into his sister’s mind, who tried to change into the person he thought of.

The thought of his sister hung like a dark cloud over his head. He didn’t even know where she was right now. She was far out of his reach. But he had to warn her. In the files he occasionally got from his CIA-contact the name “Mystique” appeared here and there, always connected to words like “terrorism”, “object of high interest”, “extremely dangerous” and “apparently shape-shifting”. Whatever Raven did in the past year since they parted ways, it had caught the attention of the CIA. And only one look at the man currently asleep behind him was enough to not want _that._

Over the last year Hank had planned and sketched the blueprints for a sort of amplifier for his capabilities. He called it “Cerebro” and had been pretty proud of it, until they realised that some of the parts were impossible to build with any technique known to them.

Then, about six months ago, he heard a rumour of a prisoner in a black-site. A prisoner who could control metal. At first more or less motivated by scientific curiosity, he hunted down the source of the rumour, that appeared to be top secret. It had taken him a giant number of phone-calls, meetings and unofficial string-pulling to arrange the deal with Stryker.

 _You selfish bastard_ , there it was again. The voice in the back of his mind, teasing him. It wasn’t somebody else’s mind, he checked. It was his very own bad conscience, poking the open wounds.

Charles started chewing on his lip. He couldn’t be the bad guy in this story. Without him Stryker would have continued to torture and probably kill this man. He _saved_ him.

_You could do so much more. You know that there are more like him._

No, he didn’t know. He couldn’t be sure. The risk of being that curious was high and only worth it, when he had real proof. Guesses were the opposite of proof. And the opposite of anything useful in this case.

_You only do this for yourself._

Yeah, what? Was it wrong to do good things out of selfish reasons? A saved life was a saved life. Then why the hell he still felt so guilty?

_Because you took advantage of this system, the exact system you want to destroy._

That… was true. Lying to himself wouldn’t do any good. This wasn’t only about his sister, not anymore. He wanted to protect her, of course. But he was in far too deep, knew too much to ignore the rest of this secret system of inhumane _something._ He hadn’t even a word for it.

Charles stared blankly at the empty highway, trying to clear his head of all thoughts. He was currently too far away from any other minds to hear them, at least not without concentrating. He had enough stuff for himself to sort out.

Hank would come back in about a week, when that thing at Harvard was over. What was it? Hank had told him about it very excited, and he already had forgotten everything. For a second, he worried about how to tell his friend about their new house guest. Because of course he hadn’t told anybody about his plan. It was better for them, safer.

A small noise behind him ripped him out of his thoughts. He turned around to see his guest curled up, arms clung around his body. Apparently, he dreamt about something unpleasant, because the noise was accompanied by new pushes of horror.

“Calm down. Here is nothing to harm you.”, his gift smoothed the stirred mind with a quick flicker. Charles sighed again and continued driving. 


	3. Chapter 3

“Hey. Time to wake up. We are here.”, he hadn’t slept for the past three hours, just laid there, eyes closed, hoping it was enough to deceive Mr. Xavier. He opened his eyes and slowly sat up. He could remember how Xavier had almost jumped a step back when he got to his feet fast earlier.

He felt better now, the four hours of sleep for once on something else than concrete had brought back a bit of his strength. Mr. Xavier still sat in the driver’s seat and didn’t look at him, searching something in the glove department. During their journey night had fallen. His eyes, not used to real darkness, only very slowly adapted to the new brightness level. 

The sky (the thought alone of such wideness gave him vertigo) was painted in a deep dark blue and sprinkled with stars. It was beautiful. Older memories of skies he had seen before rose in him. Somehow it was more difficult than usual to suppress them. He wasn’t here to star-gaze. He was here to follow orders.

A thing much more difficult now than with Stryker. Stryker never asked questions, he had always known what to expect. Now he had been thrown into a completely new world with new rules. A world with _questions_.

“You like star-gazing.”, the voice didn’t come from the front anymore, but from the door. The car engine had stopped, the door was open and Mr. Xavier stood outside waiting for him to get out. He let a _human_ wait for _him._ Fear suffocated him, while he tried to guess what order he had been given. Had there even been one?

If he wanted him outside, Xavier would have pulled him out by the collar, wouldn’t he? Or was the punishment just getting worse and worse with every second he spent thinking?

“Come on. It’s late and I’m tired.”

The Professor turned and walked away. Had he not noticed his disobedience? Or did he just choose not to show his notice? Anyway, now there was an order. He climbed out of the car and hurried after Xavier, not caring about the cold rubble under his bare feet.

The drive belonged to a giant mansion, which dark silhouette stuck out against the sky. The dim light of the thin moon hanging between the stars only revealed very little detail of the façade, but he could still see thick strings of ivy climbing up the old walls. He imagined it would look pretty in bright daylight. Not that it was his part to find things pretty.

“There they are.”, Xavier fished his keys out of his pocket and opened the massive wooden door.

Inside the house was dark, quiet and smelled like old books and wood. Every step sounded muffled through thick carpets on the parquet floor. He followed the Professor on the heel, half afraid he would overhear a command, half afraid he would otherwise trip over one of the pieces of furniture randomly standing around in the entrance hall.

“I know you have probably an awful lot of questions. But it really is late. And also, today has been way too exhausting. So, I will just take you to your room and we speak tomorrow about everything.”

While talking he headed up the stairs with the relaxed, casual pace of somebody who completely controlled the environment around him. He reminded himself to stay more sharp than usual. The threat of punishment for disobedience still hung over his head, even if his new owner (he hadn’t really warped his head around that the Professor wasn’t only his owner, but his Master too) hadn’t shown any form of violence against him yet.

Mr. Xavier stopped in front of one of the doors, apparently chosen at random and pushed it open:

“Here. It could be a bit dusty, maybe open the window. There are some sleeping clothes in the wardrobe, if you want.”, his eyes wandered over the thin grey tatters he wore: “Make yourself comfortable. Before I leave you alone, just one thing: My name is Charles Xavier and you don’t have to be afraid of me.”, he smiled amiable: “Good night.”

For a second silence fell between them, in which he panicked if he should reply the wish or remain silent. Then the Professor gave him a small pat on the shoulder. With that he left, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the open door. The door to _his_ room. No, wrong, the door to the room Mr. Xavier _had given_ him. A piece of property couldn’t own anything. The Professor’s shape had disappeared completely in the dark, but his order still stood. He took a deep breath and entered the room.

Through the window a thin beam of pale moonlight light a desk with two chairs directly under said window. A bed stood in one of the corners, the wardrobe in the opposite one next to a half-filled bookshelf. As in the rest of the house the floor was covered with two soft carpets. Out of habit he looked for chains. In his old cell there had been some; Some of Stryker’s assistants liked to restrain him, especially in the earlier times before he had stopped fighting them.

By the thought of the assistants, he backed away from the bed. Why else would the Professor put him in a proper room and not a cell in the basement? Somebody had done it before, somebody who hadn’t held so much power over him as Xavier did.

But then, on the other side it didn’t matter. If his owner wanted to tie him up, or beat him, or abuse him he could do that. Charles Xavier could do whatever he wanted with him. And all he could do was following orders and trying to avoid inflicting anger.

He would just take his place on the floor and wait. The carpet was comfortable and soft. From half closed eyes he watched the shadows. _Make yourself comfortable, maybe open a window, sleeping clothes in the wardrobe._ Was he allowed to touch the other furniture? Was he supposed to do so?

Slowly he got up, only to stand hesitantly in the dark and think about what to do now. He could take a look and then return back to his spot on the floor. That should fulfil every hidden order he had been given. Just a look.

At first, he focused on the book-shelf. The books weren’t just décor, their edges were rounded by years of touch. Some of the titles were haptically engraved and coloured in gold. He made carefully sure not to read them. Reading was human not mutant. That’s why nobody ever bothered to teach him to read or write the words of the language he spoke. They’d only taught him the language, so he could answer the questions of their tests and understand their threats.

Between the bed and the window, there was another door in the wall, painted white to fit with the colour of the wall. He wouldn’t even try open that one. It could very easily be interpreted as an attempt to escape.

The wardrobe creaked when he opened it. He flinched and almost fled back to the floor. But then the door swung open and he dared to take a look. Not that the content was so surprising. Neatly stacked sleeping shirts and pyjamas, a dressing gown, even some towels and two pieces of soap, that smelled like rosemary. An umbrella leaned in one corner, next to a suitcase. The clothes looked like they would fit him.

Another memory rose in him. _His_ suitcase with _his_ clothes in them. A suitcase with a small tag on it, reading _Erik Lehnsherr._

He shut the doors again. He wasn’t Erik Lehnsherr. He was a pet at best and a number at worst. Nothing more. Before he could get any more ideas, he returned to his place and stopped thinking. He had already thought too much about everything today.

For the first time in a long time, he dreamt about something else than pain and agony. A woman smiled at him, her hand gently running through his hair. Her lips moved; she sang to him in a foreign but beautiful language. He felt like he should understand her. She seemed so familiar, so warm. Who was that woman?

Who were those men who grabbed him by the arms and dragged him away? Why couldn’t he kick and scream and free himself from their hands? Why could he only cry and watch her disappearing in the dark? Why could he only break under the weight of fear until he laid numb and still? Why could he only cry silently in his narrow cell deep under the surface of the earth? 


	4. Chapter 4

CHARLES

When he woke up Charles felt confusion and fear. It took him a moment to sort out from where it came. Not from his mind, for sure. Hank? No, he was still gone. The mailman? Why should the mailman be confused and scared? Then, he remembered the man in one of his guest bedrooms.

For a second, he considered diving into his mind to calm him down a bit, but then decided against it. The confusion wouldn’t be settled by another voice in his head. Maybe now was a good time for the answers he had promised. He yawned while swinging his legs out of bed, looking for the slippers and his dressing gown. His leg was fine, he didn’t need the cane yet. Charles wanted tea. And some toast.

But the fear he sensed was becoming stronger and more intense with every minute. He would have to do something about that before planning breakfast.

He found the door unlocked; a soft touch was enough to push it open. 

“Hello? May I come in?”

He didn’t get an answer, so he entered the room after a few seconds of waiting. His guest cowered on the floor. Neither the bed nor the wardrobe looked touched:

“Did you sleep on the floor?”, it was a stupid question, because the answer was obvious. Charles regretted it immediately. The scared trembling was back, he could feel the anxiety rise. Oh, yes, no questions, he remembered. 

“I think we have some things to talk about. Come along.”

The man rose from the floor and followed him, the head as always bowed, in complete silence. Charles recognised that he hadn’t changed his clothes and still walked around in his grey tatters and bare-foot.

The tiles of the kitchen floor were still cold, despite of the sun shining through the windows. Dust lazily floated through the light and sparkled like a thousand little diamonds.

“I hope you like tea. Hank has some coffee in the lab, but I don’t know where the key is right now.”, while he spoke, Charles started to open cupboards and looked for the ingredients for porridge, tea and toast with orange marmalade. He could feel the wary eyes following his every movement: “Normally, I would eat a bit later, but today is going to be busy. At least as long as you are fine with it. You know, usually I eat alone. Hank – a colleague and friend, he lives here with me – he is up way earlier than I to work in the lab or on Cerebro. It looks like it’s going to be a nice day. We will go for a walk later, don’t you think? I could use a bit of fresh air.”

He chattered about the weather, the loveliness of the lands and the garden, while his guest stood where he had left him and waited for further commands. Charles turned around, a tray in both hands:

“Breakfast is ready. Please, have a seat.”

And - as he almost expected - the man dropped to his knees.

“You are allowed to sit on a chair, if you want.”

He didn’t move, only shivered a bit. Charles looked at him, then at the tray, then at the table and then unceremoniously sat down on the floor next to him.

What was that? How was that possible? The Professor sat _next to_ him. _On the floor._ He belonged there, that was his place not the one for his owner. For a second he seriously considered throwing himself completely to the floor, but maybe Xavier would do that too and humiliate himself even more than he already did by sitting with him. Humiliation that could lead to anger, which would in the end hit him the hardest.

He waited for a punishment since he got in the car and a part of him was almost happy, that he would have certainty in a few moments.

“Please, eat something.”, Xavier pushed a bowl with porridge in it towards him. It smelled good, like warm milk with a little bit of honey. There was even a spoon.

“Eat. I insist.”

That was an order. A polite one, but still an order. Mechanically he took both bowl and spoon and hesitantly started to eat. The Professor leaned against the leg of the table and for a while they both just sat there and ate their breakfast in silence.

He began to think about the possibility that this was a dream. The situation was absurd and nothing in it made sense anymore. He came from a world that was clear. Cruel but clear. This world, the new world, it wasn’t clear. He hadn’t decided yet if it was cruel or not.

“The things I wanted to talk with you about…”

Now it was coming. The thing he waited for the entire time. He put his bowl back on the tray and prepared for the first blow.

“First, a question. I know you don’t like them. But this is important. What’s your name?”

He pressed the arm with the tattooed number against his chest. That was all he had of himself, the last thing that resembled a name or an identity. If Xavier would take that from him, he had nothing. Almost immediately he lowered his arm again. If the Professor wanted his number, he would get it. He would give it to him willingly, he would do whatever he wanted willingly. Because he had no choice than to obey.

“It that your identification number? You are allowed to answer. In fact, you are always allowed to speak to anybody you want.”

“Yes, Master.”

“And your name?”

“I don’t have a name.”

“Everybody has a name. Just tell me.”

He couldn’t tell him a thing he didn’t know. It was true, he had no name. Panic crept up his spine again. Whatever he would tell him, it could be a lie. And if the Professor caught him lying… he would be used as a lab rat whatever he did, but maybe if he could behave well enough in the rest of the time, he would have a little mercy.

“You can’t remember it?”

He nodded, before he remembered that he was ordered to speak:

“No, Master. I don’t remember.”

“Luckily, I’m sort of an expert when it comes lost memories. Just calm your mind a bit and breath regularly. It won’t hurt.”

What did that mean? Was the Professor about to drug him? Right here in the kitchen?

_Don’t panic. I know this is confusing for you, but I will explain everything in minute. Relax._

His eyes flew to Xavier’s face, staring at him, trying to guess if he had spoken to him or that voice was just a product of his own stress and fear. Instead of a clue he saw the Professor smiling at him, while he pressed two fingers of his left hand against his temple. So, he officially had gone crazy. How else could you describe hearing voices in your head?

_No, you’re not crazy. I have some… telepathic capabilities. I’m like you. A mutant. You are not alone._

He wanted to panic. Or to throw himself at the Professor’s feet and beg for mercy for looking him straight in the face. Before he could do any of these options, a wave of memories flooded his mind and drowned every other thought.

_A man pressed him against his chest, holding him, comforting him, while tears ran down his cheeks._

_“Alles gut, mein Engel. Alles gut.”_

He suddenly could remember what happened that day in vivid detail. The boys at school, all years older than him, had tossed him around, mocking him because he was smaller than them, weaker, Jewish. That meant, this man was his _father._ And the woman who took him from his father’s arms and wrapped him tightly in her arms was his _mother._

_“Lass dir so was von niemanden erzählen. Du bist etwas Besonderes, Erik Lehnsherr.“_

He found himself half on his knees, half lying on the floor. His cheeks were wet with tears of remembrance, hope and pain. He had buried that memory like all the others and now it had been dragged back to him, pulling at all the old and ugly scars in his soul.

“Your name is Erik Lehnsherr. I’m sorry if I touched on some things in your past. Thank you for sharing that thing with me.”

That was his name. Professor could have given him any name he wanted and it would have been his name. But _Erik Lehnsherr_ was the right one, the name his mother used to call him. He forced himself to regain a bit of posture, straightened up a bit and tried to keep himself together.

“That was the first important thing. The other thing, you already know. I am a telepath. My DNA is mutated, just like yours. I can read minds, control them, communicate with them. That sounds pretty scary, doesn’t it?”

It was scary. To Erik _everything_ was scary, but being at the mercy of somebody who didn’t even needed him to obey by himself, who just could make him do whatever he wanted, that made his body go limb with paralysing fear. If this man was a mutant, he had to be someone very, very special and dangerous to be so respected among humans.

“I won’t use any of my - let’s just call it gifts - on you. Never. Except you ask me to. Because I’m not here to be your master or your captor or anybody who wants to harm you. You are not a prisoner; you are my guest. You don’t need to be afraid of speaking with me or looking me in the eyes. I’m here and you are with me, because I need your help. I need to find somebody very, very dear to me and your gifts could help me doing that. Could you do that?”

There was only one possible answer:

“Yes, Master.” 


	5. Chapter 5

CHARLES

He knew, that that answer wasn’t given voluntarily. Erik hadn’t a free will anymore, or at least he wouldn’t dare acting according to it. He would say whatever he thought Charles wanted to hear. He was so full of fear, that it dictated every single one of his actions.

Charles could try everything to reassure him that he wouldn’t do any harm. He wouldn’t believe him. Erik had forgotten how to trust and only time, patience and honesty would eventually bring it back. He watched Erik’s still cowering, way too small and meagre form. Through the holes in the fabric of his clothes, he could see unhealthy ash-pale skin criss-crossed by scars. 

“Should we get you some new clothes?”

Why was he asking? Erik simply wasn’t able to say “no”.

“If you want, Master.”

“I think, it would be good for you. But first, we finish breakfast. The tea is probably cold by now, but it still has enough caffeine to wake me up a bit. Feel free to eat whatever you want.”

Charles lifted his cup and demonstrative took a sip. After moments of hesitation, Erik finally followed his example and picked up his spoon. It wasn’t a comfortable silence at all, he tried hard to keep his telepathy from invading his guest’s thoughts, but still felt his anxiety. He quietly sighed and looked into his empty cup. Erik would get, until they had a chance to buy some proper clothes for him, the contents of Kurt’s wardrobe. As much as he hated his late guardian, his size was only a bit larger than Erik’s.

He would have to explain the entire situation of a man lying on his knees calling him “Master” to Hank, when he came back. Hank would also have to remove the suppression-collar, because Stryker had given him nothing that resembled a key. He could break the collar with brute force, surely in the lab there were enough tools to break the thin plastic. He wanted to do exactly that so badly, but he had a feeling that the collar might be useful in the future. Not as a tool of suppression, of course not. He would never cut a fellow mutant willingly from their powers. He couldn’t imagine getting his telepathy ripped away from him.

But if somebody visited him uninvited, or wanted to see Erik, he couldn’t hide him away in the lab or his room. And if this somebody was informed about his cover-story of “Scientific Research”, they would become suspicious when Erik was walking around without the collar.

The rattle of a cup being put back on the empty tray ripped him out of his thoughts.

“Finished?”

Erik nodded.

“Very good.”, he picked up the tray and got up. His bad leg protested after sitting so long on the cold floor, but he still managed to carry it to the sink: “So, listen, these are the plans for today: If you want you can take a shower or a bath. The bathroom is connected to your room. I will bring you some new clothes, you must be freezing in your things. Take your time, we aren’t in hurry. Then I show you everything. Please, go ahead, I clean things up here.”

He turned, but was very much listening to Erik shifting on the ground, before getting up and silently leaving.

ERIK

The white door he already knew, connected the room he was staying in and the bathroom. A similar looking door in the opposite bathroom wall probably led to a guest room on the other side. The floor was tiled in warm shades of blue and white, while the bathtub, toilet and the washstand were made out of white porcelain and bright wood.

This room was so _clean_ that he was suddenly extremely aware of all the filth on his skin. The disgusting mixture of dried sweat, caked blood and dust sticking to him. Around once every two weeks they had stripped him naked and sprayed him clean with ice cold water from a fire hose.

It had always left him bruised and shaking and often enough violated by the assistants. For the first time in years, he was alone when he took off his clothes, turned on the water and got under the shower. He flinched when the water was warm. Warm water was a luxury, that didn’t belong with worthless _things_ like him.

But it ran so comforting and soothing over his skin, eased the ever-present tension in his muscles a bit. Erik decided to wash himself as quick as possible. Xavier had said he should take his time, but how long would his patience actually last? He definitely didn’t want to test it out.

The soapy water running into the drain was stained with light red smears and coloured grey with dust. It took him almost twenty minutes until the water became finally clear. He even washed his hair and was very glad it wasn’t long enough yet to form knots. Steam filled the entire room, dulled the mirror over the washstand and muffled the noises.

Erik turned off the water. He felt better. Much better. But he didn’t become careless enough to forget that this feeling – like everything – was a kind gift from his owner. If the Professor felt like he was a burden, like he was useless, his kindness would find an end. Maybe he would give him back to Stryker, when he grew tired of him. Why wouldn’t he?

That thought alone brought the cold back into his body, made him shiver and filled him with nausea. Erik swore to himself to never let that happen. He would do anything to please him, be as obedient and good as he could. No more mistakes, even if Xavier pretended that he didn’t care. 

The steam settled slowly, condensed waterdrops ran down the mirror. Erik caught a glimpse of his reflection in the polished glass. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen himself.

Was that really him, that broken creature in the mirror? He dared to look again.

Skin, pale as ash stretched over a thin, shivering, unnaturally angular body. The posture was weak and insecure, like he wanted to cower down permanently. His hair, once balancing between brown and ginger, had now lost its colour and had turned into dirty grey with some lightly coloured strands in it. He ran a hand through his hair and felt the two blank spots, where the drill had pierced through his skull, when the scientists had wanted to take a look at his brain.

His knees got wobbly and his head heavy. Erik’s fingers dug into the edges of the washstand in a desperate attempt to steady himself. He couldn’t force himself to look away. Manically his eyes traced the scars. The older ones were erratic and irregular. The more recent ones looked clinically straight. He had learnt to stop struggling and resisting. It hurt less and ended sooner when he kept still.

But the worst were his eyes. Erik had to force himself to look at them. They were like two broken mirrors. Nothing gleamed in them anymore, nothing but a little, desperate spark of fear. Muddy grey had replaced the former shining blue-green.

He was starring in the mirror and a corpse, a dead man walking, starred back at him.

Silent tears ran down his face, his hands shook so heavily that he couldn’t hold on anymore and dropped to the floor. All left of him a sobbing, crying mess.

He wanted orders, clarity, even a punishment was better than _that_. Then constant confusion and uncertainty and those broken eyes in the mirror.

Everything was too much. Just way too much. Black dots danced into his sight, made him feel nauseous and dizzy. And as he was trained to, he surrendered to them, didn’t fight, didn’t resist. The headache became worse and numb at the same time. An increasingly smaller part of his brain yelled at him to get up, go back to the Professor before he could get angry.

But the part that had risen to power, ruled his mind and got stronger each moment, that part forced him down like a sack filled with lead.

The last thing he consciously precepted was a sour, disgusting taste rising in his throat. He sank into darkness, before it reached his tongue. 


End file.
